


Sinking Sandcastles

by Hamliet



Series: In Shadows [5]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamliet/pseuds/Hamliet
Summary: Illumi does not want to be on this family vacation, Hisoka does not want to use sunscreen, Kurapika hasn't told anyone a very important detail, and Chrollo is so focused on writing the perfect story he misses the clues right in front of him.
Relationships: Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Series: In Shadows [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1032899
Comments: 32
Kudos: 220





	1. A Touch of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you by my dear friend M begging me to continue this.

“As I was saying,” Leorio blathered, wiping sweat from his brow and then mopping condensation from his glasses. “This is the perfect time for a getaway! Nothing but sun, sand, surf, and soaking up the summer!” 

“And mosquitos,” countered Kurapika. He bit his lip like he was trying to draw his own blood and do the mosquitos’ work for them. 

Illumi sighed as Leorio chuckled, shoving Kurapika’s shoulder like Kurapika’s snark was just him playing along with his old friend. Kurapika was actually speaking sensibly for once, but of course none of Killua’s friends would realize this. Sense swam in one ear and dripped out the other for all of them. 

The sand-colored rental house rose in front of them. Directly on the water, it looked like a place Illumi’s parents would have liked—that is, if they ever took a vacation in their lives, and they most assuredly did not. They derived enough joy in their insurance companies draining others of their joy and life. Erzsebet Bathory of joy.

The house, crowned in a red rippled roof, smiled out at the waves. 

On second thought, maybe his parents wouldn’t have liked it. Too many windows. Illumi grasped his bag from the car. 

The idea to take a family vacation was recommended by both their family therapist and Illumi’s lawyer. Even though his parents’ rights were terminated over a year ago, and even though Illumi took efforts to prevent both his father and mother from interacting with his siblings, Illumi wasn’t so lucky to be cut off. 

He’d done too many things while he worked for them. 

Of course Killua asked if he could bring Gon on their trip, and Hisoka agreed without asking Illumi, and the next thing he knew Leorio and Kurapika were coming too, and if Kurapika was coming, then sure as shit so was Chrollo, which at least served a clump of steaming karma to Hisoka. 

Whatever. Illumi reached for the keys. His fingers closed around air.

He glanced to his husband.

Hisoka smirked, holding out the keys. “Already swiped them.”

Illumi scowled. 

“Stop being so grumpy,” Hisoka told him, sauntering towards the door. 

“There’s a pool!” called Gon. “Killua! Look!” 

The door swung open. A study stood directly off the foyer, littered with romance books no one read and where any of Chrollo’s minions who showed up would probably stay on the pullout couch. The main room was covered in pristine white couches and had glass doors overlooking the pool Gon and Killua were excited over despite, like, the ocean being right outside. A dining room and kitchen were open to the living area, and off to the right was a master suite that Illumi had already claimed for Hisoka and himself. If he was paying for this, then everyone else could deal. 

Upstairs were three more bedrooms, each with an attached bathroom and balcony. Leorio and Milluki were being forced to share one, and Killua, Gon, Alluka, and Kalluto had the room next to theirs, a room which was lined with two sets of bunk beds. Kurapika and Chrollo could share the one at the other end of the hall. 

“Ooh, hot tub,” Hisoka teased Illumi as they checked out the master suite. Illumi said nothing, going through his suitcase and methodically unpacking. “We’re here for a week. Why are you unpacking?”

“Are you just going to live out of your suitcase like a savage?” Illumi retorted. Sunlight slid across the hardwood floor, shimmering against the dust. Ew. He would have to clean later, too. 

Hisoka plopped down on Illumi’s suitcase, trapping his hand inside. The zipper dug into his forearm. Illumi sighed. “Illumi. It’s vacation.” He stuck his face close to Illumi’s. 

“I’d like not to spend it with a broken arm,” Illumi replied, eyes serious. 

Hisoka didn’t move. He narrowed his eyes, golden beams focusing on Illumi’s face with laser precision. “What happened in court this morning?” 

“Nothing happened. Same old, same old.” Illumi swallowed. 

His parents hadn’t even looked at him. As he’d requested. 

Why then did he still feel like he had been scorched beneath their gaze? 

Hisoka nipped his ear. “Liar.”

Illumi’s elbow shot out, striking his husband in the stomach. Hisoka gasped. Illumi yanked his arm free. “The plaintiff is in the right, of course. So I am not contesting.” He focused on the glass doors leading outside. His chest heaved. 

“I’m not having fun with this guessing game,” Hisoka remarked. 

He tugged at his hair. Damn, he needed coffee. “Yes, but they—the plaintiff—are not backing down, nor are they willing to settle with me without settling with my parents.” The Zoldyck insurance legacy was burning to the ground, and it was all his fault.

_ “You have their name, right? You’re their son; you can burn with it!”  _

His stomach squirmed and squelched at the thought of telling his siblings about this. 

“Not even if you help their case?”

Illumi shook his head. He recognized that gleam in the man’s eyes. 

He wanted to crush Illumi like Illumi had helped crush his dreams, his own health. One stone at a time. Mercy? Illumi had shown none of it. 

Why was he still paying for his parents’ mistakes? Would he be doing so forever? 

“They won’t succeed,” Hisoka said. “There’s no way. We’ve proved time and time again that your parents are abusive pieces of shit—”

“I know, but it’s a headache.” Illumi headed to the kitchen, Hisoka trailing along. Illumi dumped six spoonfuls of coffee grinds into the filter. 

He was an adult when he helped ruin this man’s life. No one would care that Illumi still felt like a child at three sobbing into Mike’s fur, his father having just struck him, a child of six who had learned not to cry and struck Milluki just like Dad would even though he felt as if he’d swallowed a part of himself, a lump inside of him, covered in slime, a child of twelve singing Killua a lullaby to get him to sleep, his hand barely large enough to cup his silver-haired brother’s soft head. 

“Someone wants to sleep never,” Hisoka sang.

Illumi turned the pot on, ignoring him. He didn’t want to mention what was the most unsettling part, the piece that made him wobble. The case was not easily proved; a good lawyer might be able to get his parents, and thereby Illumi, out of it. And he was tempted to just let that happen. What was the other option, financial bankruptcy when he had three minor siblings to raise? Plus, Hisoka’s wrestling earnings were now part of his account, since they were married. 

Really, what was the selfish thing to do? 

“Listen,” said Hisoka. “Forget them. Don’t let the kids know. Let’s just enjoy the seven days we have here and worry about it when we get back. Or never.”

“Mm.” Illumi watched the brown liquid drip, drop slowly into the pot. “There’s cream and sugar in the fridge. I asked Kurapika to bring it.” 

Hisoka stiffened. “That means Chrollo—”

“Kura—”

Hisoka darted towards the fridge, swinging it open. He moaned. “It’s milk, not cream.”

“So what?”

“So, milk is not cream and I need cream.” 

Illumi did not understand. “Just put extra in.”

“Close but no cigar.” Hisoka cursed. “Damn Chrollo, this week is going to—”

“Weren’t you lecturing  _ me _ about lightening up?” Illumi retorted. At least, someone else was being pinched and crunched by anxiety instead of him. 

“Coffee is serious, Illumi. Who knows how many could die if I don’t—” 

A shriek. Illumi jumped, peering out the windows.

Oh.

Killua, Gon, Leorio, and Alluka were already jumping into the pool. Alluka splashed Killua, who splashed her back. 

They’d wasted no time.

Good. 

Illumi poured himself a cup of black coffee while Hisoka continued to bemoan the presence of milk. He sipped the bitter liquid, letting the too-hot steam waft up towards his face. 

His siblings were chortling, swimming and playing, smiles stretching their faces. He heard a rustling noise behind him and turned to see Kalluto heading into the study, no doubt to read a book way too advanced for his age. 

He wondered when or if he would ever be able to feel that free. He’d known from the beginning that taking his siblings from his parents meant he was walking a tenuous path. He just hadn’t known how constricting it could be. 

He wanted a vacation. Illumi lowered his chin so that the boiling coffee stung the tips of his skin. His eyelids felt heavy.

“You don’t snort caffeine; that’s cocaine,” Hisoka corrected him. 

Illumi rolled his eyes. He gulped it. “Happy?” 

“Hey,” called Chrollo, arm around his boyfriend. Kurapika looked more sullen than usual; was he worried about something too? Illumi cocked his head. “We’re heading to the beach.” 

“We’ll join you soon,” Illumi said. With an umbrella he had bought, and a large towel, because he did not like the stickiness of sand and not one particle of that nor UV rays would touch him if he could help it. Hisoka could join him or sign up for cancer; it was up to him. He doubted Hisoka would make the smart decision, though. 

“Oh, Hisoka,” added Chrollo, pausing in the doorway. The sun glinted against his sunglasses. “Just thought you should know. That milk carton? It’s actually cream. I switched the cartons.” 

He and Kurapika swished out the door.

Illumi raised his eyebrows, fighting a smile.

“Can I kill him?” Hisoka requested. “Please?” 

“No,” Illumi said, but he gave in to his smile.

* * *

“Ah.” Chrollo flopped onto the towels he and Kurapika had set up on the sand. Butterflies shimmied in his stomach, but he didn’t pay them much attention. “You ever seen the sea before?”

“Of course,” Kurapika answered, pushing his shades back on his nose. Shirtless and in swimming trunks, golden hair hiked up on his scalp, he looked so beautiful that Chrollo considered a Hisoka move and seducing him right then and there. Except Chrollo was no exhibitionist. 

He sat up, sliding his fingertips up and down Kurapika’s spine, feeling the slickness of the sunblock Kurapika had used earlier. “The first time I saw the ocean, I just stood there for a solid minute. In Meteor City, no one had seen it.” The closest thing they had was the desert, sand and rock and crackling dust that stretched for miles and miles. Here, the sand sung when stepped on, led to an ocean pooling at the end of it, the sea chiming into the sand’s melody with each wave. 

He liked it. 

Kurapika turned to face him, pecking his nose. “Can you swim?”

“Of course.” 

“Well?” Kurapika presse.

“Of course?” The sun pierced his skin, hopefully roasting him into a gorgeous tan. He wanted to impress Kurapika. 

“Liar,” Kurapika said, a smirk creeping across his face. He poked Chrollo’s slicked-back hair. “The salt will ruin your hair.”

“Is that a challenge?” Chrollo asked, clambering to his feet. 

“I’ll let you save face for a little longer,” Kurapika said. “Let’s go to the jetty.” 

“There’s a jetty?” Chrollo arched his brows. Well, he didn’t know why he was surprised;. It was Kurapika; of course he had googled every single attraction in the area, along with local hospitals, grocery stores, and pharmacies. Machi had teased that Chrollo would lead a longer life with Kurapika taking care of everything. She wasn’t wrong. 

Kurapika laughed. “Yes.” He pulled Chrollo through the sand. 

A glint in the sand. Chrollo crouched down, plucking it up.

Kurapika’s nose wrinkled. 

A golden seashell, fragile and crystalline, sparkled in his palm. Chrollo held it out to him. “It looks like your hair.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Chrollo hurried after him, pocketing the seashell. He could tell from the blush on Kurapika’s face that his boyfriend was actually touched, not that he’d admit it. 

The jetty was at the very end of the beach, red and umber boulders forming an arm stretching out into the ocean. A lighthouse glittered in the distance. Must be on an island.

Kurapika didn’t speak, just headed over. Chrollo wondered if he was all right. 

Sweat dripped down Chrollo’s back as he climbed over the rocks, turning back to see if Kurapika needed help. He did not. Dried seaweed and barnacles coated some of the rocks. Must be low tide. Scraps of seashells were wedged between the boulders. 

By the time they reached the end of the jetty, Chrollo couldn’t abide it anymore. “You okay?” 

“Mm?” Kurapika turned away from the horizon, shielding his eyes. “Oh. Mm. Yeah. Just—peaceful here.” 

Suspicion wrapped around Chrollo, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He just hoped Kurapika cheered up soon enough. He had something he wanted to ask Kurapika before the week was over, and as he scanned the ocean, he thought how this might be the perfect spot to do so. 

The surf seemed unusually touch that day, waves splattering into white diamonds as they roared against the rocks. Or maybe the tide was just coming in. 

Kurapika wrapped his arms around Chrollo’s waist, planting a kiss on his lips. Chrollo relaxed slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah,” Chrollo assured him. 

Kurapika shaded his eyes again. He guffawed. Chrollo frowned, searching for whatever it was—oh.

Illumi sat primly under an umbrella, making certain not a single grain of sand or shard of sun struck his perfect skin. Except, someone—most likely three someones currently splashing in the waves—had put scraps of bread atop the umbrella. Hisoka had definitely noticed, judging by how he moved himself slightly to the left, but he made no effort to intervene. Chrollo could only shake his head mournfully as the seagulls descended. 

A push against his back. Chrollo yelped. His arms windmilled, but he tumbled down into the ocean. Saltwater plunged into his nostrils. He surfaced, spluttering. Why had Kurapika—he was lucky he hadn’t split his skull open!

“You can see no rocks on that side,” Kurapika called down. He made his way gingerly down the rocks. 

Treading water, Chrollo narrowed his eyes. “You—”

“You can read it online,” Kurapika said cheekily, slipping into the water beside him. “And it’s less violent, the surf.” He wrapped his legs around Chrollo, and Chrollo boosted him up to plant his lips on Kurapika’s. 

“What else did you see online?” Chrollo managed when they finally pulled apart. 

“Um.” Kurapika’s lips were swollen. “There are some caves, some above water, some under, on the other side of the peninsula. I’m not up for cave diving, but—” 

“We’ll go,” Chrollo decided. Maybe the caves would be a good spot, too. “Plan on it.” 

After using the outdoor shower together, they got ready for dinner. Kurapika, of course, recommended a place with great reviews online. Illumi seemed to have recovered enough from the attack of the seagulls to join.

The waitress had long purple tresses and wore a yellow outfit that barely covered her. She smirked at Chrollo when he entered. “On vacation with your friends? Family?”

Kurapika stiffened.

“Actually, my boyfriend and our friends,” Chrollo answered, slipping his arm around Kurapika’s shoulders. The waitress—Zazan, her nametag read—scowled. 

It didn’t end there, though. The woman kept flirting throughout the night. Twice her fingers brushed Chrollo’s when collecting his menu and serving his meal. Hisoka was positively cackling. 

“It just means he’s attractive,” Kurapika said, lifting his mojito up.

Oooh. Chrollo rested his chin on his fist. “I love it when you get defensive.” 

“If she put something in your drink, I’m not cleaning up your vomit,” Kurapika replied, tossing his hair.

“Like what happened when we first spent the night together?” Chrollo retorted.

“Not like that!” Kurapika’s face flushed the color of his eyes. 

“Oh no,” said Gon.

Chrollo whirled. He frowned. 

Oh, hell.

Them.

Those bratty kids, the ones who had been in some kind of gang before. Shaiapouf, Neferpitou, and Youpi sat at a table close to the windows overlooking the ocean. What were they doing here?

“Oh hey,” called Pitou. Gon did not look thrilled to see them. But Pitou pranced over as if they were the best of friends. “Fancy seeing you here,” they purred.

Shaiapouf continued to sip a definitely-not-virgin pina colada, pinky finger held in the air. Whoever their server was was definitely not doing their job of carding the brats. Youpi devoured chicken fingers, not even acknowledging he knew their table. 

“Hi,” Killua said, gulping his iced water.

“How long are you here for?” Pitou asked. “We’re leaving Thursday, just in case that hurricane hits us after all. I’m hearing it might.”

That  _ what? _ Chrollo frowned.

“Also, good luck with Zazan as your server,” Pitou said. “She might put something in your drinks. She’s skeevy.” 

Chrollo pushed his red wine away from him. A few droplets splashed onto the white tablecloth, bleeding rose petals. 

“Best of luck to her,” Hisoka said sarcastically. Illumi frowned. 

When they all got back to their place, Chrollo assured Kurapika he felt fine. Kalluto skulked off to the study again, and the others went upstairs to play video games until the sun rose or they fell asleep, whichever came first. Chrollo flopped onto the couch, checking his email. 

One from Phinks, who was taking care of their cats while they were away. Just cat photos. One from Feitan, about a story he was working on with Machi for their newspaper. 

Chrollo frowned, scrolling through the links Feitan had sent. His jaw clenched. 

Shit.

If Illumi were to get wind of this— 

Chrollo slammed his laptop shut, heart pounding. Electricity shimmied through his muscles. No, no, he was supposed to be relaxing, supposed to be planning for—not this! Not now! 

A clatter. 

Kurapika glanced up from the textbook he was studying. Nerd had taken summer classes, on Chrollo’s dime, because he finally was allowing Chrollo to pay for some of his degree. 

Crunch.

A dark shadow raced past the pool. 

Both Chrollo and Kurapika were on their feet in an instant. “Hey!” They charged out the door. 

The figure raced onto the street, then down the street. Chrollo whirled back around, eyes scouring the facade of the house for any sign of— 

“The hell happened?” hollered Leorio’s voice. He appeared on the uppermost balcony, from the study. Kalluto peeked his head out after him. 

“Someone was just lurking here,” Kurapika called back. “Probably some sort of homeless person.”

“Or a burglar,” Chrollo said. 

Kurapika cast him a withering glance. 

“What? I would know.” He’d done some of that himself, coming from Meteor City. 

“Probably nothing to worry about,” Kurapika insisted. “Everything’s always very safe here. I—” 

After the warning from Pitou about Zazan, plus the presence of, you know, Pitou, Chrollo wasn’t satisfied. He swung the door to the outdoor shower open. 

A message carved into the wood, a switchblade left behind. Chrollo sucked in his breath. 

_ TRaiToR.  _

What?

“Chrollo, seriously,” Kurapika said. “We don’t need to—”

“Kurapika,” Chrollo said harshly. “Get Illumi and Hisoka. Now.” 

“Excuse me?” Kurapika peered over his shoulder. His face flushed as he read the message. His lips parted. He sputtered. 

Illumi and Hisoka both scanned the message.

“Do we call the police?” asked Kurapika.

“No,” said Chrollo, Hisoka, and Illumi at once. Oddly, Kurapika didn’t protest. Instead, he bit down on his knuckles.

“It’s a rental house,” Illumi said, tossing his hair. “It’s likely not meant for us, but for the owners. Or another stayer. We only just arrived.”

Hisoka’s golden eyes flickered over to Chrollo, like he was suspecting him. After all, Hisoka had once betrayed Chrollo. And, okay, he’d gotten him back. But that was all in the past! 

_ Everyone is an enemy. _

The only way to survive in Meteor City. Everyone was an obstacle to overcome, a mystery to unravel, a hidden knife you had to figure out how to use before someone used it on you. 

It wasn’t as if his work at the newspaper hadn’t earned him many an enemy. Sweat prickled at the back of Chrollo’s neck. He texted his troupe at the paper.  _ Look in to people we’ve exposed who might think we betrayed them.  _

_ Sure thing, boss, _ replied Shalnark, almost as if he’d been waiting for such a text. 

He could count on them. But how could he let his guard down? Last time, Kurapika got himself kidnapped, and then Chrollo got himself bloody shot! 

He couldn’t sleep. Even after Kurapika turned in, he scrolled through his past files, looking for something, someone. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find any; it was that there were too many. Even when he finally shut down his laptop and nestled against his boyfriend, his brain kept whirring, kept trying to iron out the day’s events as if he had missed a sizable wrinkle. 

He flopped onto his side. Moonlight cascaded onto Kurapika, turned onto his own side. Strands of blond wafted up from his cheek, moving in time with his breaths.

Oh.

He hadn’t seen Kurapika’s eyes turn red once that day. 

  
  



	2. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

“I must be having a nightmare,” Hisoka stated. “Or else I surely wouldn’t be seeing your face here.” He drummed his fingers on the counter of the ice cream bar.

The waitress looked bored, but two other customers in line were whispering to one another. A third had his phone out. 

It made so much sense, a block sliding neatly into a hole perfectly constructed for it. He folded his arms, a smirk sliding across his face. Mystery solved, and Illumi could stop masticating his own brain, searching for memories to strangle himself with. Honestly, Hisoka thought Illumi should be more into BDSM than he was. He certainly enjoyed hurting himself enough.

Kastro’s eyes roved up and down him. “Are you trying to camouflage with your hair?”

“Excuse me?” He was wearing green, not red. Or maybe Kastro was colorblind. 

“Excuse me,” echoed the kid with the phone. “Are you both—the wrestlers—” 

Kastro turned to the kid, eyes bright and smile straight out of a toothpaste commercial. Except most kids hated toothpaste. “Indeed.” 

“I thought you’d retired,” the kid said, staring at Hisoka.

He clenched his jaw. “Oh? And who would say that?” He hadn’t retired. He’d just… taken a break, explored other opportunities. Like commentating. He had a husband and his husband’s stupid brats to worry about, and Gon kept coming around, and since the kid copied everything he did he would get himself hurt if Hisoka kept it up. 

“I just won another match,” Kastro said brightly. 

Whatever. Hisoka was winning this match, even if he wasn’t going to physically knock Kastro around. Well. Maybe he’d get the chance to, just not in a ring. 

At the very least, he could rest easy that he knew who was behind the “TRaiToR” message. What terrible use of capitalization. If Kastro were to say it, it would sound like a spluttering man in the middle of a very unfulfilling orgasm. 

If Kastro wanted a game of cat and mouse, Hisoka would make sure it was a fun one. He got his order, paid, took a photo with the kid, and then stalked back to the house. Illumi was staring blankly into another mug of depressingly dark coffee. “You the only one home?” 

“Kalluto’s upstairs.” 

Figured. 

“Was surfing fun this morning?” Illumi asked.

“Sure.” He was not mentioning how the waves knocked him over once. At least he was able to stand up more than Chrollo. Leorio hadn’t stood up once, Gon had gotten up only briefly, and Killua was a natural. Alluka had stayed on the shore with Kurapika, who carried enough bandaids and water bottles to earn him the title of  _ Mr. Mom,  _ and no, Hisoka was never going to let that die. “No creepers lurking and writing on the shower?”

“Not that I saw.” Illumi lifted his shoulders.

Hisoka shoved the ice cream into the freezer and flopped down on the couch. “I know who’s behind the message.”

“So do I,” Illumi said. “That plaintiff. I—”

“No, Illumi. Kastro.” Hisoka tapped Illumi’s nose. Man, it was hot in here. He jumped up to turn the AC up higher. 

“Kastro?” Illumi frowned. “But that doesn’t seem like his style.”

“Honestly, Illumi, please consider that for once, you might not be the problem here.” Hisoka leaned over the back of the couch and tapped Illumi’s nose. 

Illumi’s eyes started to reflect the sunlight streaming through the window. “Do you think—”   
  


“I know, and I’m going to get him back,” Hisoka said, picking up Illumi’s stupidly long hair and tossing it over his husband’s face. 

“Hisoka, no.” 

“Hisoka, yes.” 

Illumi brushed his hair out of his eyes. He reached up, pressing a fingertip to Hisoka’s cheek, right under his star design. Oh, so he felt like being tender today. “Like what you see?”   
  


“You’re sunburned,” Illumi answered. 

_ Are you trying to camouflage with your hair? _

Hisoka glanced down at his arms. They did look rather… pink. 

Whatever. He could handle a little sun. “Part of the fun.”

“You should put some aloe on. I’m sure Kurapika has a bottle.” 

“Kurapika probably already has diapers for whatever alien spawn he and Chrollo eventually adopt,” Hisoka said. “He’s more of a mom than you are.” 

“I will get some for you,” Illumi said, rising from the couch.

“Don’t need it.” Hisoka smirked. The stretch throbbed in his face. 

“Hisoka, if I put a french fry in your hand, you would look like the lobster Zazan served us last night.” 

“I’m fine,“ Hisoka insisted. “Come on, Illumi. Give me a little credit.”

“Oh?” Illumi arched his brows, heading for the bedroom. “Then let’s have sex.”

Hisoka chewed his lip. “That’s the least sexy thing you could have said.”

“You never don’t want it.” Illumi stripped off his shirt.

Well, damn. Hisoka had no choice. He pulled his own shirt off, throat tightening as the cotton tore at his shoulders with soft shards that felt more like glass than seams. 

Illumi folded his arms, waiting. And then he tired of waiting, and moved to kiss Hisoka, fingers splaying over Hisoka’s back and neck.

Hisoka screamed. Illumi began to smirk.

“You knew what you were doing,” Hisoka panted, clenching his fists—no, dammit, now the skin on his knuckles felt too stretched, too raw, too fucking hot— 

“I always do.”

“That is bullshit.”

“I’m going to get aloe.” Illumi sauntered past him, putting his own shirt back on. “I don’t recommend you put yours on.” 

Illumi was such a— Hisoka flopped onto the bed, only to realize it felt like diving into a pool of lava. Mother of— 

Hey, he could use this time. He hauled himself back up, standing at the desk as he pulled up information on his laptop. He had to find where Kastro lived, had to give him a taste of his own medicine. What should he write on Kastro’s rental property? Should he invite Gon and Killua to sneak along? The two kids had been awfully sneaky lately, playing some video games that Hisoka suspected Illumi might not approve of.   


That was, if he could find it. If only he had Chrollo’s hacking skills… 

No way was he asking that greasy, tanned asshole for help. But, he could ask someone in his circle. 

Hisoka pulled out his phone and dialed the contact labeled  _ Bubblegum _ . 

“What?” Machi’s voice answered. 

“Well, hello to you too.”

“This had better be important, because I finally got the baby to sleep like five minutes ago, and Feitan said that if the phone wakes him up, we’re going to tag-team to dissolve your body in acid.”

“Terrifying.” Hisoka snorted. 

“Is this about the message scrawled on your shower? Because Chrollo already told me about that.”

“I know who it is,” Hisoka said. He detailed about Kastro being there, how he had to get Kastro’s rental information, had to get him back.

“Well, I can surely get you his address, but I love to tell you that you’re wrong,” Machi said smugly. “It’s not Kastro.” 

“You’re wrong. You don’t know him.”

“I know you and your pettiness.” Machi sighed. “Listen, dipshit. If Zazan is there, then you need to—”

“Zazan?” Oh right, that waitress from the night before. She was trying too hard for Hisoka’s taste, and if her taste in men was Chrollo, then he could only assume she was the worst kind of person. 

“Careful,” interjected Feitan’s voice. “Tell him to go for it. And get himself kill.” 

“Ew,” said Hisoka. “I hate your boyfriend, Machi.” 

“Me too,” said Feitan. 

Hisoka rolled his eyes, not even bothering to mock Feitan’s grammar. “So who is this Zazan, and why should I be concerned?”

“She’s an arrogant former model,” said Machi. “And she’s got connections like you wouldn’t believe. She’s a life ruiner.” 

“Are we back in high—”

“No, I’m serious,” Machi snapped. “That’s her job. She advertises on the dark web. She’s all too happy to accept payments to make other peoples’ lives into hell. She can hack, she can manipulate, she can buy judges, she can do it all. I know you hate Kastro, Hisoka, but he wouldn’t team up with walking poison.” 

Shit. It had to be Kastro. It had to be. “I would,” he countered. 

“Not this one.” Machi cussed. “Learn your lessons, Hisoka. If you met her and someone left a message on the shower, I would bet it’s connected.”

“She paid more attention to Chrollo than to anyone else.” 

“What?” Feitan’s voice demanded. 

“So, he’s probably her target,” Hisoka said. He went to run his hands through his hair and had to stop himself from screaming in agony. How did his scalp even get roasted? This wasn’t fair! Damn sun had to work for Chrollo. “Would be a shame if I stepped back.” 

“You wouldn’t.” Machi’s voice adopted a threatening aura.

“It would ruin Illumi’s vacation too, so absolutely not,” Hisoka said, nails clacking against the wooden desk. He spotted the beach crew staggering up towards the house, coated in sand, seaweed, and with Illumi at the head. Great. 

“If we need to come, let us know,” Machi said. 

“You can at least let me tell Chrollo he’s the problem.”

“I will not, you—” 

He hung up, striding out of the bedroom and into the living area. 

“Man, you’re burned,” breathed Gon. Chrollo laughed.

Hisoka narrowed his eyes. But even as he went to tell Chrollo what Machi had just said as Kurapika held out a bottle of green gunk, he found himself unable to say anything besides: “are you sure you don’t want to use that for yourself, golden rage mushroom?”

* * *

Kurapika had been zipped in a perpetual straightjacket of boiling embarrassment since arriving in this town. Really, the sizzling sensation on his skin didn’t feel all that different. “Why am I still a golden rage mushroom?”

“Did you protect everyone else from the sun and forget about yourself?” demanded Leorio.

Huh? He glanced down at his forearms. They did look awfully flushed, but… “I put sunblock on this morning!” 

“Was it waterproof?” 

“Of course!” Kurapika glared. “It was the same one you all used when you got back from surfing—” 

The one they had reapplied. 

Leorio pinched his brows. Chrollo sighed. 

“I may not have reapplied it,” Kurapika finally managed. 

“Kurta eyes on your skin,” Chrollo offered, and despite his smile, it sounded more like a barb than his boyfriend likely intended it. 

Kurapika jerked away from Chrollo’s outstretched hand, stomping towards the stairs.

“Cool, not cold showers!” Leorio yelled after him. “And drink plenty of water! That goes for you, too, clown.” 

“You think you can make me—” Hisoka started, before Illumi must have grasped his burned neck, because he screamed. 

Even cool water felt like needles scraping his skin. By the time Kurapika emerged from the shower, droplets clinging to his skin, his stomach was churning. Some of the droplets wouldn’t wipe off his shoulders, and he realized that they were blisters. Fucking hell. 

He remembered when Pairo got a sunburn once. They were just kids, five and six. 

_ “Kurapika, didn’t you put on sunscreen?” _

He’d forgotten. 

He always forgot. 

Kurapika clutched the toilet bowl, retching into it. The simple sandwich he’d eaten for lunch spilled out of his mouth, spoiled and sour now. The acid scorched his throat from the inside. His hair felt like straw against his neck. His eyes stung. 

A knock on the door. Kurapika couldn’t gag out a response. His stomach heaved again.

The door slammed open. Chrollo marched in. “You’re sick.”

“Too much sun,” Kurapika managed.

Clanks echoed behind him, but he couldn’t see what Chrollo was doing until he pressed a cold glass of water into Kurapika’s palm. “Drink.” 

Kurapika made a face. He sipped the water, hoping it settled the rabid butterflies in his stomach. In through his nose, out through his mouth. 

He could only wonder what Chrollo was thinking. Actually, he didn’t have to wonder. He knew, as surely as the water spreading coolness through him, at once relieving and infuriating, opposites that shouldn’t coincide. He wanted to be numb instead.

“Take care of yourself, too,” Chrollo said finally. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Kurapika closed his eyes. They, too, stung. Had they burned too? Would he go blind like Pairo? No, he knew that wasn’t how it worked. 

“Obviously,” Chrollo said, lying. 

He was wrong and he was right. Kurapika couldn’t hide behind truth for that long. He raised his head. “I really didn’t, Chrollo.”

Chrollo said nothing, just squatted down to help Kurapika to his feet. He found himself face down on their bed, Chrollo massaging aloe into his back. 

It felt nice, soothing, the hands that had wandered all over him, taken from him in the past and interlaced with his own with promises of the future, healing him. 

If only the ocean Kurapika could hear in the distance outside, the gulls weeping, were not the same ones he remembered having pointed up to with Pairo. 

_ “I want to fly!” _

_ “We will! We’ll go on a plane someday!”  _

The closest Pairo had come to flying was when he saved Kurapika from the cliff above the caves in this very town. But that wasn’t flying. It was falling. 

He could still hear the cavernous silence echoing, echoing. 

They weren’t supposed to even be there that day. A local kid had drowned recently trying to swim through the underwater caves, and Kurapika and Pairo morbidly wanted to get close to that area. Why, he didn’t know. Was it his idea, or Pairo’s? Probably his. 

The pads of Chrollo’s fingers lifted from Kurapika’s skin. He craned his neck to the side. “Thank you.” 

He couldn’t meet his boyfriend’s eyes, but he could at least offer that. 

The only reason he could endure being here was because Chrollo was here with him. 

_ TRaiToR. _

Who was it? He had scanned the faces at the diner last night, scanned faces on the beach, scanned the surfers and the kids kicking down sandcastles. He didn’t recognize anyone, and he wasn’t sure if that made him even more of a traitor. To be here with the man who had, in a roundabout way, been blamable for Kurapika’s family’s deaths… 

But, he needed him. 

If Kurapika was a traitor for that, so be it. He couldn’t betray Chrollo. He had little else. 

Kurapika drifted into a gray daze of a sleep. 

When he woke, his skin still felt as if he’d been dragged across the sand by a motorcycle, but at least the waves in his stomach had settled. He pushed himself up on his elbows, hearing Kalluto grousing to Alluka about having to delay their cave visit because of Kurapika’s sunburn. 

Kalluto was such a little brat. Kurapika liked the kid. 

“Are you feeling better?” Alluka called as Kurapika staggered out of the room. 

He flashed her a thumbs up. 

“He lives,” called Leorio from where he, Gon, and Killua were playing some sort of game in the living area. Kurapika needed to ask what they were playing. Chrollo looked up from his laptop, and his smile lit up his face. 

“I need more aloe,” Kurapika admitted.

“We’re gonna run out, between you and Hisoka,” Leorio teased, tossing Kurapika the bottle.

“How is the clown doing?” Kurapika rubbed some of the sticky liquid into his skin. It tingled and soothed. 

“Pretending he’s fine, but secretly dying, and my brother is playing along,” Killua said, rolling his eyes. “I swear if they don’t kill each other someday…”

Kurapika turned to Chrollo. “Want to go get some more?”

“Should you be going outside?” Chrollo retorted.

Kurapika gestured at the violet twilight bleeding over the sky. 

“It’s fine,” Leorio said. “Actually, you can pick up dinner while you’re at it. Illumi ordered out, because everyone’s stuck here for the night.” 

Chrollo smirked, getting to his feet. Kurapika noted the name of the restaurant. He already knew where it was, didn’t have to look it up on his phone. 

He’d always liked that place’s clams. 

So had Mom. 

But it was located on the boardwalk, which excited him. He wanted to show Chrollo the boardwalk, even if it was surely shabbier than he remembered, and he was far too old for bumper cars and go-carts now. But those weren’t even the special memories for him. 

He remembered eating a black raspberry ice cream cone, sticky sweetness dripping all over his face and down his fingers, laughing as golden and scarlet fireworks lit up the night’s black tapestry, complimenting the silver stars. 

_ I want to share it with you. _

“Exhibitionist,” Chrollo hissed in his ear when he left the house without a shirt. 

“I don’t want to be in pain,” Kurapika retorted. Chrollo took his hand in response. 

The wind blew the scents of salt and smoke, cotton candy and sunscreen towards them, raking its fingers through their hair and lifting Kurapika’s from the back of his neck, sending it fluttering. It felt cooling against his sunburn. 

They stopped at the pharmacy first, Kurapika struggling to squeeze the words from his throat.

He had to tell him. Had to peel back the dead flesh. 

“The restaurant is on a boardwalk,” Kurapika said. “Kind of childish, but it’s cute.”

“Really?” Chrollo smiled as he paid for the aloe. “We should go there when you and Hisoka are better. Or, when you are and he is still, peculiarly, ill.”

“Do not slip tea into his coffee.”

Chrollo laughed. They slipped through the crowds, the winds whistling now. Oh right, there was supposed to be a storm later this week. The people around him, parents with their kids and grandparents sneaking dogs ice cream, teenagers making out as if they were tetheh only ones in the world, didn’t recognize him, and he didn’t know their faces either. 

“Your skin really does resemble your eyes,” Chrollo said in a hushed voice. 

Kurapika focused on him.  _ You recognize me.  _

_ And I know you. _

He looped his arms around Chrollo’s neck right then and there, ignoring the sting of his shoulders stretching. Chrollo smirked. 

“Chrollo,” Kurapika said, feeling his eyes start to change. “Chrollo, there’s something—” 

“Kurapika Kurta?” 

Oh no.

Why now?

Kurapika whirled around. A heavyset man with a bulbous nose, holding a can of orange juice, put his free hand on his hip as he studied him. “It  _ is _ you.”

Kurapika combed through his memories, frantically flipping the pages, ransacking them. No, no, he couldn’t place this man—how did—his eyes hadn’t even changed yet— 

“I would know you anywhere,” the man said, sauntering over to them. “Who is this?” 

Kurapika’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth “My boyfriend.”

“Chrollo Lucilfer.” He introduced himself with a smile.

“Ah, the paperman! I was just reading about you, Kurapika, in the paper,” said the man. “I help run this little town’s only news source, you know.” He grinned. “My name’s Tonpa.”

“M-me?”

“We look for a historical event in this town to publish every day,” the man declared. “‘This day in history,’ that sort of thing. I was just reading about your accident with your cousin—what was his name?”

Kurapika could barely unscrew his jaw to respond. “Pairo.”

“Right, how he saved you from falling off the cliffs by the caves. You both so easily could have become another skeleton down there!” The man chortled. “You know, I’ve heard the caves have gold, but they’re too dangerous for even that to tempt me. Only thieves would be tempted."

Chrollo looked pale.

"What an inspiring story, two kids saving each other. Much better treasure than gold. Where is your cousin now? Finishing university?”

Kurapika’s stomach undulated, but he had nothing to throw up. He had nothing to give him energy to keep standing. He wanted to collapse, but he couldn’t even do that; his muscles locked too tightly around his bones. “He died a few years ago.”

“Oh, what a shame!” The man clucked his tongue. “Guess we won’t use that one for later this week, then.” 

And then, after plunging Kurapika headfirst into a whirlpool of memories, the man just walked off. He slipped between ring toss and balloon pop game booths, vanishing into the night. 

He turned to meet Chrollo’s eyes even though he knew what he would see.   


Chrollo's umber eyes smoldered, and Kurapika felt reduced to ashes yet again. 


	3. Sink or Swim

The newspaper man’s words might as well have shoved a boulder onto Chrollo. 

Neither of them spoke much more than a few sharp words for the rest of the walk, during dinner, at night. Chrollo almost thought about offering to sleep on the couch, but Kurapika made no sign of being that pissed at him.

_ “I was going to tell you,” Kurapika said. “This is the place where—”  _

But he hadn’t told him.

_ Instead, Chrollo had responded, words a sharpened stone. “At least now I know why you got yourself sunburned. You just cared too much about others to think of yourself, because you’re trying to distract yourself from something.”  _ His grief. Always his grief, the grief that he— 

That Chrollo— 

If Chrollo really did ask Kurapika to marry him, then would he ever be able to escape it? 

“It’s understandable,” Chrollo had continued as Kurapika cursed. 

Chrollo dragged himself up from the bed, heading down the stairs to work on the message case again. He had to distract himself. And if—if— 

Had that newspaper man, or anyone else who might have recognized Kurapika from the town, written that message? TRaiToR? To accuse Kurapika of—for dating the man whose actions had led to the deaths of his family? 

No. Chrollo tapped out a message to Phinks and Machi. It couldn’t be. 

It was likely.

He would rather it be someone he pissed off. 

Well, at the very least, Chrollo could take care of this for Kurapika. And then— 

_ Should I let him go?  _

He didn’t want to. 

How fateful, that they had fallen in love, that the man who’d cut off his family found family with the one who held the knife. And how cruel was the man with the knife not to see the family still reflected in it. 

But he loved him. 

Chrollo didn’t want to let Kurapika go. It was a good story. He wanted to marry him. He wanted to— 

_ I want to rewrite the past. _

_ Why can’t I?  _

“Maybe you just want control,” said a voice behind him.

He jumped. Oh, bloody hell, this— 

“You’re writing out your thoughts,” said Hisoka, peering over his shoulder. “I see you keep a diary. You know, if only a hacker could—”

“I do not!” Chrollo glared. 

“You totally do. You’re so the type, you—”

“Just shut up.” Chrollo could feel a migraine abruptly moving into his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose and dropping weights behind his eyes. “Why are you awake?”

“It’s three in the morning. The Witching Hour. It’s my time.” Hisoka winked. 

“You’re in too much pain to sleep,” Chrollo observed.

“Shut up.” Hisoka glugged some of his ice cream coffee. He flopped down next to Chrollo. 

Chrollo scowled. 

“Chill out,” said Hisoka. “Also, you’re incredibly dense. Not that this is shockingly new, but it always amazes me how you manage to see only the bad in people, and not the good. What are you so afraid of?”

“Excuse me?”   


“Think,” said Hisoka, gulping more of the liquid. “Why do you think Kurapika didn’t tell you?”

Chrollo’s face heated. Something slimy and thick slid down the back of his throat. “You know why.” Did he have to say it? 

Shame was such a heavy weight, and he couldn’t lift it. Humiliation crawled across his skin. 

“I do know why, but I don’t know if you do,” Hisoka said, examining his long, painted fingernails.

“Because I killed his family,” Chrollo spat. His eyes stung, but fuck it, he wouldn’t cry in front of Hisoka, he wouldn’t. 

“And by that logic he killed Uvogin by getting him arrested and—”

“Yes! I know! So what?” Chrollo glared. He didn’t want to discuss this, didn’t want to exhume the rotting corpses of ghosts they’d already played a requiem for. 

Hisoka slapped his knee, cackling.

“Shut up! You’ll wake—”

“I won’t,” Hisoka said, putting his face uncomfortably close to Chrollo’s. His breath reeked of coffee and sugar. “But yes, you’re on the right path. What do you think Kurapika feels about this?”

Chrollo couldn’t answer. The waves crashed louder outside. 

“You are so incredibly stupid,” Hisoka said. 

He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to acknowledge any part of it, breathe it into reality. 

“You think…” prompted Hisoka. 

“He resents me.” A euphemism, a shining stone with a kindly inscription, an angel or a rose or two etched on it, soft green grass above a decaying person, a person without a face now, without eyes. 

Hisoka laughed again. Chrollo restrained himself from striking him. The ass— 

“He’s trying to protect you,” Hisoka cut in. 

Chrollo blinked.

“He doesn’t hate you,” said Hisoka. “Golden Rage Mushroom hates himself, remember? He’s not with you because he wants to hurt himself, though. He hates himself less when he’s with you, so he didn’t want to tell you while he was here so he could cover himself up in the batter of his own self-loathing and bake in this town’s sun. And he did it because he didn’t want you to burn.” 

“That’s not true,” Chrollo managed.

“Oh, I think it is,” said Hisoka. “He wanted to make sure you had fun, not that you would know fun if it sucked your dick. He didn’t want to see you burying yourself under your newly grown and honestly, annoying, conscience.” 

Chrollo didn’t know what to say. He just—he— 

“Anyways, good night,” said Hisoka. “By the way, what kind of cream did you buy? It’s barely passable. I resorted to adding actual ice cream tonight.”

Chrollo tilted his head back, hair flopping. “It’s half-and-half.” 

Hisoka threw the remains of his lukewarm coffee on Chrollo’s face, and he didn’t even mind.

He woke to Leorio shaking him. The sun blazed outside, and the smell of tea lingered in the morning air. He pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes. Outside, the last pebbles of lavender dawn crumbled to dust under the sun’s golden scepter.

“Where’s Kurapika?” Leorio asked. “And why are you sleeping on the couch? Did you piss him off, or—”

“No,” said Chrollo. “Well, maybe. I just—wait, where is he?”

“I just asked you that,” Leorio said, folding his arms. “Look, if you need me to run an intervention on him, I—” 

_ You want to see him happy.  _ “Why are you up so early?” Chrollo asked. 

“I have to Facetime Cheadle now,” Leorio responded. “Everyone else is still sleeping, except Kalluto, who’s probably off reading somewhere, and Kurapika, who’s apparently missing.” 

“Don’t worry,” managed Chrollo, shutting his laptop. “I know where he is.” 

* * *

Chrollo was halfway to the caves when he realized he didn’t have the precise location. He stopped at a coffee shop to buy an iced tea with lemon for himself and a steaming rooibos for Kurapika. When he asked for directions, a voice piped up behind him.

Oh great. Them.

“You’re the second person to ask for directions this morning,” said Pitou, munching a donut that Pouf looked at as if it had fallen from the sewer. “Party happening there? You all heading separately?” 

Kurapika had gotten lost? 

Chrollo ignored them, marching with the directions from the barista. The kids followed him, though, like little ants he couldn’t get rid of. He reached the cliff as haze smeared across the sky, calming the sun for at least a little bit. The waves were loud today, likely a result of the approaching storm. 

“You’re lucky it’s low tide,” hollered Pitou. 

Chrollo ignored them, making his way down the rocks. A loose stone rolled, thudding down towards the damp sand and scattered sea glass. Once he was down at the base of the cliff, he glanced up, craning his neck to see the rocks jutting out. Unlike at the jetty, if Pairo had fallen from there even during high tide, he’d have smashed his head on rocks that sprouted like teeth in a sandy monster’s jaw. He wondered if, in their childhood innocence, neither Kurapika nor Pairo had known that. 

The cave gaped at him, a triangular opening a little ways up the cliff. He had to haul himself up a pillar of rock to get inside, spilling some of the bloody rooibos on his hand on the way. Once inside, he used his phone flashlight. No service, but— 

Ah, shit. The cave split into two paths: one that led down, and one up. The one that led down must lead to the underwater caves. Chrollo opted for the upper one. 

All kinds of litter marred the cave: wrappers, coffee cups, even a pair of sandals. Chrollo scowled. People had no respect; did they want every place to turn into Meteor City? They’d have to make sure to take their tea out. 

“Kurapika?” 

The cave narrowed. Chrollo had to turn sideways to meander through. 

“Kurapika!” 

The name echoed and echoed. Chrollo gritted his teeth. 

“Chrollo?” 

It came from the left. Chrollo ducked into what looked like a cavernous room, ocean poolng slightly at the bottom. Kurapika sat on a slope, arms around his knees. His eyes, scarlet, met Chrollo’s. 

Art covered the walls. Old art, judging by the wear and—

Kurta artwork.

From Kurapika’s tribe.

Now just him after centuries of persecution, and then Chrollo’s selfish thoughtlessness. A lump filled Chrollo’s throat.

“I was going to show you later,” Kurapika said. “It’s—Pairo and I were trying to reach this place, when he—” Kurapika wiped at his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Chrollo blurted out. He staggered over to Kurapika, shoving the rooibos into his hand. “I didn’t mean—” 

“Don’t apologize. I should have told you.”

“Hisoka told me,” said Chrollo. “That you were trying to protect me.” 

Kurapika’s lips curled into a small smile. “Never thought Hisoka would be right.”

“Never repeat that he was.” Chrollo gulped more of his iced tea. 

“I want to be with you,” Kurapika said. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

_ I want to… _

_ With you.  _

All Chrollo wanted to hear. He closed his eyes. “But we are together.”

“Mm, and—”

“And, you don’t get to bear your burdens on your own anymore,” Chrollo said, elbowing him in the ribs. Kurapika winced in pain. Ah right, the sunburn. “Remember?”

“Same,” said Kurapika, looking at him. “Is there… something you want to tell me, too?” He gulped, wringing his hands. “I’ve seen you—the past month, you’ve been preoccupied—I’m guessing for a sort of story, but I—” 

Chrollo’s mouth hung open. He burst into laughter.

“What?” 

Chrollo pressed his lips against his. Kurapika responded, opening his mouth, pinching the back of Chrollo’s neck, pulling him closer. 

Water splashed his leg. He turned.

“We should go,” Kurapika said quietly. “The tide’s probably coming in. This part of the ca ve doesn’t really fill all the way, but some of the path back might.” 

Chrollo nodded. Kurapika gulped some of the tea, leading the way back with his phone flashlight. When the entrance yawned in front of them, Kurapika froze.

“What?” Chrollo asked.

Kurapika pointed with the light. “Those sandals.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re Kalluto’s.” 

Chrollo blinked. Kalluto’s? No, he was…

_ Probably reading somewhere.  _

_ The second person to ask for directions… _

“They’re definitely his,” Kurapika continued, alarm rising in his voice. “I had carried them for him when the sand was—” 

“Kalluto!” shouted Chrollo. The name echoed and echoed. He moved towards the caves, the caves that were—underwater— 

_ They’re cool to explore, but when the tide comes in… _

“No,” Kurapika snarled, holding his shoulder. “You get out and call for help. You hear me? You don’t know the cave system. You’ll get yourself trapped, and you’ll drown too!”

_ Too _ . That meant Kalluto could—could already be— Chrollo shook his head. “If you think I’ll stand back and let you sacrifice yourself to—” 

“I’m not going to drown,” Kurapika said, voice harsh. “Do you hear me, Chrollo? We haven’t finished our talk.” He pressed both of his palms to Chrollo’s cheeks, skin heated from the burn. 

And his eyes.

They were scarlet. 

“Please live,” Chrollo said, voice wobbling. 

* * *

Hisoka wasn’t about to let a little sunburn get in the way of a confrontation. 

“If you go outside with that sunburn, I will kill you,” Illumi warned.

“I look forward to it.” Hisoka ducked out the door anyways. He had to take care of this before it went any further. Also, Chrollo was probably down there in some beautiful caves making some grand love proclamation to Kurapika, and Hisoka was not about to let himself be beat there. He and Illumi had already married, but he could still do this.

_ I’ll take care of the traitor so you can enjoy your vacation.  _

Even if it meant saving Chrollo twice in one day. It’d feel good to have the man grovelling. 

Skin sizzling, wind threatening to undo the gel holding his hair in place, Hisoka marched into the local restaurant, the aroma of crab and fried potatoes wafting through the air, greasing his already aloe-caked skin. 

Sure enough, Zazan appeared almost instantly. “Table for one?” She flashed him a smile with gleaming teeth. Her long fingers settled over the menus.

“Actually, no,” Hisoka said, leaning forward. “I was wondering if you would consider meeting me out back. When you have a break.” He kept his voice low and sultry. 

Zazan tossed her hair. “You think you’d finish within my break time?” 

He flicked his golden earring. The wind was really starting to pick up outside, whistling and warbling. Clouds rolled in over the sun. 

“Ten minutes.” Zazan smirked and sauntered back into the kitchen. 

Hisoka slipped into the back parking lot, turning his phone recording on. Whether this bitch was working for Kastro or for someone else, he would get her to scream it out. 

The back door creaked open. Zazn’s heels clacked on the pavement as she strutted over like she was walking a runway instead of the back parking lot of a restaurant with a dumpster lurking to her left, breathing its disgusting moldy lobster breath all over her. 

“Your husband won’t find out?” Zazan asked sweetly. 

“Oh no,” Hisoka said. “He will.” 

Zazan’s brows knit together. “I—”

He grabbed her by her shoulder, shoving her back against the bricks. She cackled. “Like it rough or—”

“Tell me,” Hisoka said. “Who hired you, life ruiner?” 

Zazan’s eyes bulged. Her mouth fell open. “You can’t be—” She swore. “Which rat—” 

“Machi Komacine,” Hisoka said. Hopefully Zazan would decide to track down Machi for revenge, because then Machi and Feitan would take this woman apart. 

“You’re being awfully forward, but I don’t sing,” Zazan informed him. “Not unless—” She reached for his hand.

Ew, she was still trying to seduce him? Hisoka slapped her hand away. “Not going to work on me.”

She narrowed her eyes. 

“Kastro,” said Hisoka. “Tell me what he paid you, and I’ll pay you more—”

“Oh dear,” said Zazan, tilting her head back. “What if my payment is you?” 

Oh, come on. 

Zazan leaned forward. “And what are you going to do about it, Hisoka Morow? The price for me not ruining everything you have? You really just want things to stay as they are now? My, my, I heard you were the adventurous sort. You’ve become boring.”

Oh hell no, he was not being blackmailed into sleeping with this creature. 

“I should have known by flirting with Chrollo that it would wrap you around my little finger,” Zazan crooned. “You—”

“Shut the—” 

“You really are predictable. And petty. I—” She grasped the back of his neck, yanking his face down. Her lips, scratchy and chapped, brushed against his. 

Hisoka shoved her away, ripping himself from her grasp. No way was—did she think that just because she was a woman, he wouldn’t kick her ass for trying to— 

“Oops,” said Zazan innocently, looking past Hisoka’s shoulder.

Hisoka slowly turned.

Illumi stood there, arms folded, wind tossing his hair around his face and obscuring his expression. 

“Fuck,” said Hisoka. “Illumi, this isn’t what it looks like.” He had the recording.

“Oh?” Zazan asked. “You didn’t ask me to meet you out here for—”

“Did you think I was going to let you have all the fun?” Illumi asked, approaching. “You’re not the only one with contacts. Or who knows how to look for things on the dark web.” He fixed Zazan with a dark stare. 

The hell. Hisoka’s face flushed. Thankfully the sunburn masked it. 

“Listen, I was hired by a man who just wanted to ruin your vacation. I don’t know exactly what for,” Zazan said, examining her nails. “Seems he was cheated out of something. I guess.”

Illumi’s face looked even milkier than normal. Hisoka gritted his teeth. Damn it, fuck it all, now Illumi would blame himself without any doubts. 

“I got Kastro to come by giving him a discount,” said Zazan. “Making it look like he’d won a contest for a cheap vacation. Looked up Kurapika’s past, flirted with Chrollo to make Hisoka want me—”

“I do not want you.” Hisoka pointed to his flat crotch. 

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Who did hire you?” Illumi asked. “The name?” 

“No can do.” She pretended to zip her mouth shut. “But you’ve got a bigger problem. Clearly your husband thinks vacation is boring, or else he wouldn’t have been looking for trouble all on his own—”

“You don’t know him at all,” Illumi cut her off. 

“And you do? He’s a clown, he wears masks—”

“I know part of him,” countered Illumi. “And I’m learning the rest. Like that he was trying to protect me.” 

“Eccuse—” Hisoka had to set the record straight. 

“You don’t have to protect me,” said Illumi, turning to him. “I can handle it.” 

“I know you  _ can _ ,” Hisoka snapped. He did. Illumi was tough, but not unbreakable. Oh so very fascinating. If Zazan had actually managed to—

“We’re married,” Illumi reminded him. “We do things together. It’s much more productive to do things with you.”

And… 

_ Much more fun. _

The two of them turned to Zazan, glaring. 

“Hey!” shouted a voice, arms windmilling about like he was a butterfly in a tornado. A blond twink.

Oh, right. Shaiapouf. The kid swept his hair back, stalking over to them with his chin up in the air as if he was some kind of prince. Accompanying him was a boy who held the hand of a girl whose eyes were closed. 

Hadn’t they been the leaders of their little gang? At least the boy. 

“Your friend’s been trying to call you,” said the boy. “One of your kids—Kalluto—is lost in the caves.” 


	4. Storm in a Teacup

Kurapika’s heart pounded, but the hiss of incoming waves drowned out the sound. He groped the walls in front of him, struggling to grip his phone and find his way forward. 

Where had that cynical brat gone?

_ “Kalluto!”  _

Saltwater frothed around his ankles. Shadows bloomed everywhere. Sand, spit by the sandwater, gnawed his toes. He tried to wrack his mind, remember, remember, dammit, he and Pairo had gone here before—with Dad— 

_ Where is he? Where is he?  _

Kurapika drew in his breath, plastering his free hand against the rough stone wall. He couldn’t panic. He had to stay calm to find him. 

He couldn’t let the kid drown. 

Chrollo loved him. 

_ I love him. _

_ You wouldn’t hate me for that, would you, Pairo? _

He wouldn’t. Kurapika knew he wouldn’t, and that was enough to send tears cascading. Maybe that was why Kurapika couldn’t acknowledge it for so long.

He faced a crossroad. Kurapika gripped his jaw, teeth aching, knuckles too.  _ “Kalluto!”  _

He should head to higher ground. Kalluto was smart and would have headed up there.

Right? 

_ If you let go of my hands once, I’ll get in the car and we’ll never come here again,  _ Dad warned, one hand around Kurapika’s and one around Pairo’s as he led them down into the underwater caves. The tide was at its lowest then, and Dad wouldn’t take them diving with him. 

He hadn’t let go. Goggles on, his eyes lit up scarlet as he looked at the cavern under the surface. Green and blue, brown and gold, it was beautiful. 

Kurapika hesitated. He could go to the higher ground later. He didn’t have long to look at the deeper caves. He plunged down, shouting Kalluto’s name again and again. The waves came up to his thighs, and then his waist. Silt slid between his toes. 

“Kalluto!” He glanced behind him, the path suddenly looking more twisted, stalagmites and stalactites forming a grotesque grin. 

_ “Did you ever get lost, Dad?” _

_ “Sure. You just can’t panic. When you panic, you drown.” _

Kurapika gulped. He spotted a tight crevice mostly covered in water. If he remembered correctly, through the crevice was the gold. He closed his eyes. It was less dark, somehow, then. 

_ “Stuck?” chimed in Pairo.  _

_ “Only once. That’s why you don’t go cave diving alone. So your mother could help me out.” He ruffled Kurapika’s hair.  _

Kurapika inhaled, and then ducked beneath, pushing himself through the small tunnel. He opened his eyes despite the burning salt water, fumbling with his hands. Goodbye to his phone. He just hoped he didn’t—didn’t grasp something—

Soft. 

Kurapika almost snorted water, and the red obscured his vision. He clawed. Someone had—Kalluto was—or— 

A kick to his belly.

A kick. 

Kurapika thrust his arm out, grasping the rocky facade. He pulled himself up to where he could gasp air. mHe choked, spitting water and blood. Damn, his own nose was bleeding.

Kalluto glared at him, treading water. “Why are you here?”

Why— brat! Kurapika shook his head. “The tide’s coming in. It’s not safe.”

“But I’ve almost got it,” Kalluto countered, nodding at a backpack slung across a stalagmite just under the surface. 

Gold glittered inside.

The hell? Kurapika shook his head. “We can’t bring it with us. It’ll weigh us down. Kalluto, we only have minutes to get out of here before it gets flooded!” 

“But I need it!” Kalluto insisted. 

Okay, okay. He couldn't argue with the kid as much as he wanted to. Leorio would tell him to appeal to the kid’s emotions. “Why?” 

Kalluto sniffled, hair stuck to his face in soaked strands. “To help my brother.” 

Which one? “Illumi? Milluki?” 

“Killua!” Kalluto sounded offended. 

Killua? How? What? Why? What had he and Gon done? 

“We’ll help them,” Kurapika promised. “No matter what it is and no matter how much you need. The gold—it’s supposed to stay here. It’s beautiful, right, where it is?”

Kalluto wrinkled his nose. “But I need it more than the cave—”

“I’ll help,” Kurapika repeated.

“You’re a college student.”

“I have a rich boyfriend,” Kurapika countered. Dammit, dammit! No arguing! “Please, Kalluto. I don’t want to die here. But we will.”

“I don’t—”

“Trust me,” Kurapika pleaded. 

As if to illustrate his point, his phone’s flashlight went out. Kalliuto’s flashlight was much weaker, only a dim orange strip through the water. Kurapika inhaled. Terror shivered through him.

_ I don’t want to die here. _

_ I don’t want to die at all.  _

_ “Were you scared when you got stuck?” Pairo asked.  _

_ “Of course,” said Dad. “But Kurapika’s mom was there, so I stayed calm.”  _

_ I’m scared, Dad. Pairo. Mom. Chrollo.  _

“Trust me,” Kurapika repeated, holding out his hand to Kalluto. “Leave the bag.” 

Kalluto still hesitated. He reached for the bag and frowned, realizing he couldn’t reach it without ducking under. The water level had risen again. Eyes bulging, he turned to Kurapika. 

“Drop it,” Kurapika pleaded.

He let go. The bag filtered down to the bottom, sinking into ink. Kurapikla grasped Kalluto’s shoulder, pulling the kid with him. “Hold your breath.” He shoved Kalluto in front of him through the tunnel, blood gushing again, too much pressure, his ears ached— 

And then they were out, and could surface—sort of. The sea gushed around them, swirling. Kalluto yelped.

Oh, now he was scared. Kurapika swore internally. He grasped Kalluto’s flashlight, pulling him along. They reached an area where they could wade, only up to their shoulders. And then, the final stretch. 

Completely flooded. 

Kalluto’s eyes bulged. 

Kurapika couldn’t hold Kalluto and the flashlight. It was too big, there was too much space, but he needed the light, and— 

He had to try. Kurapika grasped Kalluto. “Stay close. Hold your breath.” With a deep inhale, Kurapika plunged below. 

Why was it so large? He had to make it to the entrance, stagger up, people would be waiting—Cheollo would be— 

A wave slammed into them, sending Kurapika careening against the rock. His head struck. He saw stars under the sea. An d then he saw nothing at all, but he still felt Kalluto’s grip on him.

Blind?

No. Orange. 

Fuck.

The flashlight sank, orange light dimming as it floated its way to the bottom. Kurapika kicked, groping in the dark. Where was the exit from here, the way out—he needed to see to find it, he didn’t know how— Kalluto was kicking too, trying to help, but the squirming kid only made—he kicked Kurapika’s stomach, an he inhaled water, blood, it was impossible to tell, so salty— 

Kalluto pulled on him, almost breaking free.

_ Hell no!  _ Kurapika gagged. His chest heaved.

_ I’m drowning. _

Not—not— 

Kalluto smacked him, gripping his chin like he was trying to break Kurapika’s jaw. He must be drowning too— _ I don’t want to fail—  _

Now Kalluto wrenched his hair, and— 

Air.

He broke the surface, gagging. He spat up water. Kalluto gaped at him. “I thought you were gonna drown!”

They’d made it out? 

Somehow? 

Shouts echoed above them. A burly man with white hair held out his hand, pulling both of them out of the underwater caves. 

And then, he could let go. 

He pushed Kalluto into Illumi’s arms, and fell into Chrollo’s. 

* * *

“I thought you were going to—” Chrollo was saying, shaking all over. Kurapika was slobbering blood and seawater all over his clothes, and he didn’t even seem to mind.

Illumi clung to Kalluto. His heart was still beating out of his chest, his eyes still scorching from panic. Hisoka had been about to fight all the firefighters and police to go in and rescue them. Or die trying, which was honestly more likely. 

No one was dying. 

Kalluto was safe. 

Illumi’s jaw still felt like it would shatter from the tension. He couldn’t even speak. 

“Kalluto!” shouted Killua.

_ Kil? _ Illumi lifted his head, turning to see Killua, Gon, Leorio, and Alluka rushing over. Hell, even Milluki! 

“Golden Rage Mushroom, good job,” Hisoka said roughly, poking the top of Kurapika’s sea-soaked and sunburned scalp.

“You’re lucky,” said the cop. “Storm’s closing in.” 

The wind blew sand up at Illumi’s face. 

“Why did you go there?” Illumi finally managed. “Kalluto, you should have asked one of—”

Kalluto huffed, folding his arms. He tucked his chin to his chest. 

No answer.

Fine. His brother couldn’t trust him. Not particularly strange.

It still hurt. 

Illumi scooped his brother up in his arms, carrying him. 

So much for a vacation. Everything chafed at him. He could still hear the plaintiff in the courtroom the other day:  _ he’s just as responsible as his parents, or would he argue his brain growth is stunted? _

_ Worse,  _ Illumi finally answered to himself, sand and gravel crunching under his feet. 

He was responsible.

He was stunted. 

Both.

He never got to be a child, and he never would. 

“You’re welcome,” called Pitou, sticking their tongue out. “Told you not to go there alone, Kalluto.”

“Shut up!” 

“How come you didn’t stop him?” Gon demanded, curling his fists. He marched over to Pitou like he was going to pummel the kid. Hisoka rolled his eyes and watched. Illumi was going to pummel his husband if he let Gon get in a fistfight here.

“I warned some of you,” Pitou retorted, folding their eyes.

“More than we’re required to do,” Pouf added, tossing his sunny hair.

The man who had pulled Kalluto and Kurapika from the cave—his name was Morel—rolled his eyes. “Let’s go, kids.” 

“Hmph.” Pouf refused to budge.

“Meruem and Komugi are riding out the storm with us,” Morel added, and only then did Pouf turn, eyes lighting up. 

Right. That Meruem—Poluf was obscenely loyal to him. Last time Illumi had truly spent time with them, Pouf had no hope of seeing Meruem anytime soon. He’d left with his girlfriend, the world champion in some board game. 

But they’d reconnected. And Pouf was on a vacation with a foster family. Being a brat anyways. 

_ You’re lucky. _

“Neferpitou, Shaiapouf, Youpi,” said Illumi. “Thank you.”

Pitou cackled, Pouf rolled his eyes, and Youpi smiled. 

_ It’s okay.  _ He saw Morel put his hand on Pouf’s shoulder, squeezing gently.  _ You’ll be okay. _

Illumi carried Kalluto back home. The sky was starting to resemble a bubbling gray witch’s brew. 

“You aren’t yelling,” Kalluto remarked when he emerged from the shower, dressed in sweatpants and one of Alluka’s ribboned shirts.

“No,” Illumi agreed. “I’m not.” Instead he was waiting on the couch, hoping. 

But Kalluto didn’t talk, and Illumi felt his insides dissolving. 

That was, until he heard shouting. 

_ “Don’t make me feel like a burden!” _   
  


Alluka? Illumi leaped to his feet as thunder rumbled. What on earth?

His sister came stomping into the living area, spotting Kalluto and Illumi. She marched over to them. “Did you know, Kalluto?” 

“No!” Kalluto protested. “I only overheard from—Killua and Gon talking, and—” 

“Don’t risk your life for me!” Alluka threw her arms around him. The first raindrops splattered against the glass. The wind rattled the windows. “I never asked for this!” 

Illumi slow blinked. “What is going on?” 

“Illu-nii?”

He turned.

Killua stood by the stairs, wringing his hands. Hisoka leaned against the entrance to their bedroom, brows raised like he’d realized something, but what it was Illumi didn’t understand. He frowned. “What’s wrong?   
  


“Er, can I talk to Illumi alone?” requested Killua. “Sorry, Alluka, Kalluto.” 

Alone? What the hell? Illumi rose, heart pounding. 

Alluka grabbed Kalluto’s hand, dragging him up the stairs. Illumi led Killua into their room. Hisoka closed the door behind them, folding his arms. 

“Alone,” Illumi said to Hisoka.

“He doesn’t count,” said Killua at the same time as Hisoka replied, “But we’re married.” 

Fine. Illumi’s heart pounded. “What happened?”

“The message left outside,” said Killua, facing the window. Leaves blew ricocheted the wind. “I—it’s my fault. The message, I mean. It was left for Gon and me.” 

What? 

Not for—but— 

Hisoka doubled over, guffawing. 

“Not for you, not Kastro, not anyone Chrollo pissed off, not Kurapika,” said Killua, hunching his shoulders. “See, Gon and I—have been playing online games. And we won a lot of money. Like, a lot. Off of a man here named Tonpa. He paid Zazan to help freak us out to get us to give it back.”

“Oh shit, you’re serious,” Hisoka said. 

What?

Illumi rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t follow.” 

“Alluka’s been worried,” said Killua. “And getting teased more, you know, for her body, and she’s going to be a teenager soon. Gon and I were looking into treatments, and hormone therapy, and how expensive it is because insurance doesn’t cover it—”

Not even his parents’ insurance covered that. Illumi felt something slimy and sticky rolling around in his stomach. 

“And with the court cases, we didn’t want to burden you, so Gon and I started playing some online poker—it’s easy to win, you know, and—” 

Hisoka laughed so hard he was wheezing. Illumi fixed him with a glare. It did not shut him up. 

“I’m sorry,” Killua managed. “I’m really sorry, Illumi. I didn’t mean to. I know you’re already—with the court cases and—” 

Killua was… apologizing? To him? Illumi thought his eyeballs would fall out of their sockets. 

“I just wanted to—” Killua wiped at his eyes. “I was afraid that you—”

Illumi bit his lip. “Don’t worry, Killua. We’ll work it out. I know I haven’t been—a safe person—” No wonder Alluka couldn’t talk to him. And yet— 

“You’ve been proving yourself lately,” Killua said. 

Something warm bloomed in his chest, embers and petals falling through his limbs. He blinked.  _ Are you… proud of me? _

_ I’m proud of you, Kil, _ he would say when Killua helped him think of sneaky machinations to defraud people at the insurance company. 

He’d never heard it. 

He so desperately wanted to, as a child straining his neck to look up at his father, barking at him to do more and more, never to rest, never enough, always too small. Even sitting there in the courtroom, sliding his eyes over to his father, knowing he would never look at Illumi, feeling the lesser suit he had and every potential crinkle in his hair, he felt small. 

_ “He’ll never be as tall as me. Too much of his mother,” _ Dad said once to Grandfather.

Neither would Killuaq, but Killua at least had that silver hair. 

“I’m trying,” Illumi said honestly. “Killua. I’m not mad at you.” 

Killua gaped. His brow furrowed. “Why not?” 

Huh? “Do you want me to be?”

Killua rolled his eyes. “No, but I mean, Kalluto almost died, I gambled illegally, how are you not mad?”

Illumi cocked his head to the side. Hadn’t Killua just said it? Compared to the things he had done… “Court.”

“You don’t have to compare me to you!” Killua shot back. 

Fuck. That wasn’t what he meant. What to say? What to do? “I—”

Killua threw his arms around him. 

Illumi gasped. This time tears leaked down his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around Killua. He couldn’t speak. 

“Alluka already stomped her feet and told me I’m an idiot once she found out,” Killua said into his shoulder, voice muffled. “She said Kalluto wasn’t a price she’s willing to pay—” 

“It’s not about that,” Illumi said, voice muffled. “I’ll make it for her. No matter what I have to give.”

“Duh,” interrupted Hisoka. “You have a husband, moron. I’ll pay for Alluka’s treatments. If Illumi gives me a blow job, that is , but he usually does anyways.”

Illumi’s face turned scarlet. Killua yelped, planting his hands over his ears.

“Even if I—even if the court cases bankrupt him.” Hisoka added. “We’ll be okay.”

_ You mean it. _

It felt strange, having arms to fall back in. 

Killua nodded.

“Don’t be afraid anymore,” Illumi told him. He pulled back, facing his brother. “Don’t, Kil. It’s—not worth it.”

_ I’m scared. _

_ “Zoldycks aren’t afraid!” Dad struck him upside the head. _

‘You don’t have to be scared, either,” Killua told him.

Have to.

A choice. 

_ “Stop crying!” Dad snarled. _

_ No _ , Illumi chose. They were a bath. He nodded. 

“And now,” said Hisoka, curling his fist and his lips. “I believe that once this storm is over, the four of us, er, owe Tonpa a little something.” 

* * *

The storm raged outside, night shadows sliding across the floor. The wind shrieked and battered the windows, but not a drop of rain could get inside. Kurapika wrapped his arms around Chrollo, holding him close. They were naked, but Chrollo was still holding onto something.

"Now," Kurapika said, resting his chin on Chrollo's shoulder. "There's something you've been keeping from me."

"Oh." Chrollo's brow creased. He pushed his hair back. "Eh,  I was going to ask you something. But it wasn't the time.”

“Now it is,” Kurapika insisted. “No more avoidance, remember?”

Chrollo rubbed his brow. A small smile came over his face. “I—er—” His face reddened as if he was getting a sunburn.

Kurapika cocked his head to the side. “Oh?”

“I wanted to ask you to—” Chrollo struggled. “I wanted to do this on the jetty, or in the caves, not—”

Kurapika’s heart began to pound. He reached out, reached across their bed, lacing his fingers with Chrollo’s. “Ask. Here. Now.” In this room, the room he’d been sick in, the room they’d kept secrets in, the room they’d opened up in, the room they now sat naked and sweating in, burns not withstanding. 

Chrollo blew his breath out. “Will you… marry me?”

_ You want to sign up for a lifetime of angst and grief?  _

_ You want to sign up for a lifetime with me.  _

And he, with a reminder of healing, with redemption encased in skin, flawed though he was. 

“Yes,” said Kurapika, getting to his knees and peering into Chrollo’s eyes. “I will.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a perfect story by any means, but I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating in a few days (Wednesday evening/Thursday morning), as I'll be out of town, and then God-willing every two days after that. It's not terribly long, so it should be all up by next week!


End file.
